


Nothing Sundays

by stoprobbers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Girls with Guns, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Join Me, Post-Season/Series 02, Sibling Bonding, The Upside Down, Will Byers & Nancy Wheeler - Freeform, get on it fandom, there may or may not be a confession of love in here too why don't you find out, why am i the only writing about the overlaps between jonathan and mike and will and nancy??, will and nancy need a tag dammit!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoprobbers/pseuds/stoprobbers
Summary: "You've been there," Will says softly, sounding almost reverent. Color has come back into his cheeks slightly, his eyes are as wide as Jonathan has ever seen them, and he is staring directly at Nancy. "You saw it."





	Nothing Sundays

It's a nothing Sunday. 

Nothing Sundays are rare in the Byers household. There's almost always _something_ to be done – dishes, or laundry, or cleaning, or matinees they've been waiting eagerly for. Now there's also Nancy; Sundays are good days to take a walk or grab lunch or find a secluded place to park his car and climb in the backseat and steal some time.

But today his mother did the dishes before she went to work and his brother, by some miracle, actually folded the laundry before he went to bed last night, and Nancy and the rest of the Wheeler clan has been dragged to church in the name of a cousin or a goddaughter or something like that – she had whined about it last night but he tuned it out in favor of concentrating on the soft skin where her neck meets her shoulder; he doesn't know any of those people anyway. So for once Jonathan is lying in bed, propped up on every pillow he owns, with "Breakfast of Champions" open on his lap and no distractions.

The peace lasts approximately half an hour before there's a crash from the living room.

"Will!" he calls out, barely looking up but the words on the page blur with his distraction. "Whatever you're doing don't break anything!"

"I'm _not_!" Will calls back, frustrated. His tone makes Jonathan look up properly from his book. He considers putting it aside, but the noise fades and when he hears his brother move, Will's footsteps sound normal. Maybe he just caught him at a bad moment.

He returns to his book, its bizarre meditations on fact and fiction and free will. There is a knot in his chest, a swirling mass of horror and empathy and sadness and amusement, contradiction upon contradiction. Nancy can make fun of him for reading Vonnegut all she wants; no other author has made him feel as intensely as this.

There's another crash, this one from across the hall, from Will's room.

"Hey!" he calls again. "Watch—"

"I _know_ , Jonathan!" Will shouts back and it almost sounds like a growl. "I'm fine, leave me alone."

It stings a little and Jonathan feels the urge to flip off his bedroom door and the boy beyond it. He settles for making a face instead, tries again to return to his book.

He gets about three pages before his bedroom door swings open.

Will is standing there, but there is something off about the tilt of his shoulders, the way his hands are balled into fists at his side, the look on the younger boy's face, mouth pressed into a hard line, eyes fire. It makes Jonathan frown.

If he didn't know better, he'd think Will is angry. But that's not what anger looks like on his little brother – Will's anger blazes, flashes like a blinding sun and then disappears just as quickly, all bright burning rage and no simmering resentment like Jonathan. No, Will's not angry. Will is _determined._

"What's up?" Jonathan asks, trying to keep the note of worry out of his voice.

"I want," Will starts, then stops, takes a step forward into the room and looks at the ground for a moment before meeting his older brother's eyes. "I want you to take me to shoot. I want to shoot a gun. I _need_ to shoot a gun."

The Byers boys will defend themselves, their family, the people they love, but unlike their father Jonathan doesn't think anyone would describe him or Will as aggressive. Both of them had been taught to use the guns their mother and father have; neither of them had enjoyed it. Will's request is shocking, and for a moment Jonathan doesn't breathe.

But then, he thinks, he might understand. He _does_ understand. Thinks about walking out to the clearing in the woods, lining up the cans, aiming the revolver, firing. He's a crap shot but it still felt good, felt powerful. For the first time in days he had felt in control. In a way, he had felt safe. If the monster showed up, he had a way to kill it, or so he thought.

If he felt that way…

He dog-ears his page, sets the book on his comforter, and climbs easily off the bed, nodding.

"Okay. Go get the shotgun. I need to make a phone call; I'll meet you in the car."

+++

Will is quiet the whole ride, staring out the window with an expression Jonathan can't quite read. But when they pull up to the curb in the cul-de-sac, his little brother turns a wary, almost accusing gaze at him.

"Why are we here?"

"We're picking up Nancy."

Looking past Will, he can see her calling something into the house, closing the front door behind her. He smiles at her as she approaches and veers toward the back passenger door.

"Why?"

"Because _she's_ actually a good shot."

Will looks surprised at that, and before Jonathan linger on how his little brother has never seen Nancy's shooting skills in person, that he has been missing or unconscious both times she has saved their little family, Nancy's opening the door and climbing in the back seat.

She's careful not to kick the shotgun or upend the boxes of bullets. He tips his head back against the headrest and she leans forward and, no, he never gets tired of the press of her lips on his as she kisses him hello.

"Hey Will," she says easily, settling back in the seat as he pulls away from the Wheeler house. "So. Shooting?"

"Yep," Jonathan answers with a grin. "Hopefully he's got better aim than me."

"Aw," she coos, and he can see her grinning in the rearview mirror. "You're great at hitting the spaces _between_ the cans."

"I don't know if I want to know," Will says slowly. "Do I want to know?"

Nancy looks perplexed as he turns towards the clearing where the stumps are. Last time they walked there, met in the middle. This time they've got more stuff and more people and no monster breathing down their necks, so he figures it's a better idea to drive.

"You never told him?" she asks. He doesn't look at her in the rearview mirror when he shrugs.

"There wasn't ever really a time."

"Liar," she huffs. "You know, it's not bragging to tell him that we went looking for him."

" _We_ went looking for the _monster_ ," Jonathan corrects. "When _I_ went looking for him all I found was… you. And Steve. And Barb."

He doesn't like talking about that night, thinking about it, the things he did and the pictures he took. He didn't lie to her in the woods when he said what he thought she was saying when he took her picture, but he didn't tell the whole truth either. It wasn't just that up in Steve's room she looked like she was finally herself, it was that she looked _relaxed_. He had heard Carol's screams and gone running, sure he was about to find something horrific. Instead he found four of his peers, unburdened by a missing brother and a crazy mother and a metric fuckton of guilt smothering every breath.

He's not proud of it. He's glad he apologized for it. And he would prefer never to bring it up again, please and thank you.

"You went looking for the _monster_?!"

Will's incredulous yelp snaps him out of his thoughts, his memories, just in time for him to rather abruptly make the left turn towards the woods. Everyone in the car tilts with the motion; he thinks he feels Nancy's fingers brush against his ear in a half-hearted swat of discontent.

"It took you. It took Barb. We had to do _something_ ," she justifies.

"Nancy saw it in the woods. We thought we could find it, and kill it," he adds.

"That's _stupid_ ," Will breathes. "Are you crazy?! You actually went looking—"

Jonathan glances over to see Will gaping at him, pale and trembling. Carefully, he maneuvers the car off the road, into the shallow, dusty shoulder meant for campers to park on. They're close enough.

"We had to  _try_ ," Nancy is saying. "So we went looking. And we found a deer, and then that _thing_ found the deer, and we followed it. And we found… I found…"

She trails off and Jonathan turns in his seat awkwardly to face her. She's staring between them and beyond them, a lost and thoughtful look on her face. He knows that look; he saw it that night after she got out of the shower, and the next morning, and in the middle school hallway after Eleven went into the Upside Down. He's seen it since then, too, when she thinks no one is looking, when she just can't hold it at bay anymore.

"You've been there," Will says softly, sounding almost reverent. Color has come back into his cheeks slightly, his eyes are as wide as Jonathan has ever seen them, and he is staring directly at Nancy. "You saw it."

She meets Will's eyes as well. "I found a door, in a tree, and I crawled through without thinking."

Will is quiet. His mouth is pinched, his eyes dark; he's upset. Angry, even. Neither of them speaks, Jonathan thinks he barely breathes, as they wait for the younger boy to respond.

"How did you get back?"

The corners of her mouth quirk up automatically, her eyes lift to his. There is light behind them and in them, amusement and disbelief intermingling. Jonathan can't look away.

"Your brother." It comes out soft, almost awed, and he remembers. "I followed his voice."

He remembers. Remembers her hand, bursting out of the glowing tree trunk, knocking him onto his back with fear. Remembers the sound of her voice, closer than before but still warped and strange, the desperation as she called his name.

He's dreamed about that, a thousand times. About walking in circles until her voice fades out forever. About falling back and waiting just a beat too long, watching her hand disappear again. About grabbing her hand, pulling with all his might, and watching her get dragged back into the tree, into the monster's claws and its horrifying flower mouth.

(He dreams about the monster's mouth too, about it peeling open over his face and drooling into his mouth, and Steve taking Nancy and running, running, leaving him there to be devoured.)

There is tension in the car now, Will looking between them with plain disbelief in his face and a million questions in his eyes.

Nancy breaks it by shaking her head and spinning his father's revolver up into her hand like an old west gunslinger.

"But!" she says brightly, "We're _not_ stupid. We didn't go in unprepared. Which is how I learned your brother is a _terrible_ shot."

She opens the back door and hops out and that breaks the spell for now. Will looks at him accusingly, a mix of emotions Jonathan can't decipher on his face, then follows Nancy out of the car.

+++

He volunteers to find and set up the cans.

He wants to hover, so badly. Will is sleepwalking, moving efficiently but without intention. He can tell his little brother is lost in his own head, turning over the story Nancy just told him.

He kind of can't believe they never told him about it before. Wonders how many times his little brother lost himself in isolation and loneliness and the certainty no one alive had ever experienced what he had when another survivor was within reach. Guilt surges through him again, and Jonathan tries to shake it off – they were all struggling, this last year.

He retrieves half a dozen cans from the space behind the stumps, sets up the least wrecked of them for shooting. When he looks back, Nancy and Will are huddled close together, talking.

He waits. His fingers curl with the effort of holding himself back.

But he doesn't move. He thinks of all the nights Will crept into his room, climbed beneath his covers and clung to him, shaking and cold. Thinks of the times Nancy called him in the wee hours of the morning, gasping and crying and reaching for a tether to the real world.

 _Follow my voice_ , he had screamed through dimensions, and she did, even after she was out of that place, the residue of it cleansed first with water, then with fire.

So he leans against a stump and clenches his jaw and waits.

The tension doesn't leave their shoulders but to Jonathan's surprise, Will suddenly reaches out and pulls Nancy in to a hug. She's such a slip of a girl and he's such a wisp of a boy, but clutched together like that he's taken with how much bigger she is than him. Their embrace is swift and fierce and then, in eerie unison, they both turn to him.

"What are you doing?" Will yells at him, his voice high and nearly lost in the breeze. Jonathan pushes himself up, keeps his stride carefully casual.

"What, you don't want to be able to hit a moving target?"

"That's not funny." Will sounds genuinely upset as he folds himself down in between them and puts a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Sorry, bad joke."

"Really bad," Nancy agrees, poking his shoulder hard before turning back to Will. "So what do you want to shoot first? Handgun or shotgun?"

"When did you guys do this?" Will wonders. "You said it was before you went monster hunting for real but what does that even mean?"

"It was after your, uh, your funeral." The words taste bad. "We figured out where it had been before, picked somewhere in between to look. I took Dad's gun, Nancy brought a bat."

"We added the nails later," she adds.

" _I_ added the nails," Jonathan corrects and she rolls her eyes at him.

"Dustin said Steve has a bat with nails." Will's eyes narrow. "You made Steve's bat?"

"It's _our_ bat." Nancy sounds so irritated, he realizes this is not the first time she's had this argument. Just not with him. "We just let Steve keep it."

" _You_ let him," he corrects again, softer this time. "Steve and I never really talked about any of it… after."

She holds his gaze until Will speaks.

"It was bad when I was gone, wasn't it?"

The two teens sigh in unison, but it's Jonathan who speaks.

"Yeah, bud. It really was."

"Well," his little brother says slowly. "I know how to shoot a shotgun, so we can do that second. I've never shot Dad's gun before."

+++

It turns out Will is somewhere between him and Nancy with the revolver. She offers his little brother a better introductory lesson than his "point and shoot," but it's still only Nancy who can hit each can each time. Will gets most of them. Him, well, he's still only getting the spaces between.

Though the kiss Nancy presses to his cheek when Will walks away to get the shotgun does soothe his wounded pride, he has to admit.

His brother is much better with the shotgun. They stand half a dozen feet away and watch Will take shot after shot, cans pinging as they're knocked off the stumps. Nancy leans her back against his chest and his arms wrap around her shoulders, meet under her chin. Her hair smells like gunpowder and spring.

Will is remarkably steady, not just in his aim but his entire demeanor. Jonathan realizes it's the first time in a long, long time that he's seen his brother stand tall with shoulders square, without a tremble anywhere in his body, shotgun against his shoulder and finger smooth on the trigger. It's like the inverse of two autumns ago, when he stood, shaking, with this father's stolen revolver amongst dead leaves and dying reeds. Now there are shoots of fresh green grass around Will's feet and crocuses among the compost left behind by winter.

"What are you thinking?" Nancy murmurs. "I can _feel_ you thinking."

He remembers her, rust-colored jacket and dark jeans and white fingerless gloves, hair pulled back and somehow still fluttering in the breeze. Her stillness as she declared, "Screw that," and pulled the trigger.

Remembers watching the can fly off the stump, remembers the way his heart skipped a beat. The way his entire body suddenly felt hot and flushed, and he couldn't quite catch his breath even as he looked at her and laughed in surprise. Back then he hadn't dwelled on it, overwhelmed as the world tilted further off its axis with every passing moment, but now, a year and a half later, he knows exactly what that was. Wants to go back in time and smack his younger self on the back of the head for being so dense.

"Jonathan?" Nancy's soft voice brings him back to the present.

"You," he answers honestly. "How you shot a gun for the first time. I think I fell in love with you."

He can feel her tense in his arms; they haven't said that, not yet. This thing between them is old and new at the same time, a knot of feelings and desires they've been trying to untangle as carefully as possible. He just took a sword to a big part of that knot and he doesn't want to know how much damage he caused. So he tightens his arms around her to keep her from moving.

"Jonathan," she says but he doesn't loosen his grip. " _Jonathan_!"

He takes a deep breath, loosens his arms, prepares for whatever is about to happen. He tries to keep his gaze steady as she whips around.

"Idiot," she murmurs as she reaches up and grabs his ears, pulling his mouth down to hers. "I love you too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This knocked around in my head and in my Word docs for a long time. I put it away to finish "Infinitive" and when I came back to it I realized it appeared to be... done? And then I spent a week trying to figure out a title.
> 
> I'm not sure, exactly, what this is beyond another story in which we realize the Byers and Wheelers have more in common than any of them realize or think. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :) 
> 
> (And dammit, AO3, gimme my sibling tags. I need a "Jonathan Byers & Mike Wheeler" and "Will Byers & Nancy Wheeler" tag stat. Get on it, fandom.)


End file.
